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I watch as people open their garage doors by remote, sometimes wave and shut them as fast as they opened, not to see them again until the next time our paths cross again, in the same manor, different clothes and different attitudes but the same, always the same knowing they are returning fro that which I yearn so desperately for, the city and the noises of the city, any city with corner coffee shops and small boutiques, bookstores to wander about for hours and CD's to listen to as aa means to escape the realities before me...

I wonder what it must feel like to return to a place that reminds me of nowhere, trapped by a body of water, my ability to walk and the amount of air in my bicycle tires as a means to do something, anything, in strip malls usually as real traffic heads East and I do not as there are no means to get me there and to return me to where I reside but home, never, as its not mine and I've been told so many a time and over some more, only wondering why so many manipulative mind games and so much denial when the truth has been shown in black and white and spoken loudly but ignored almost immediately...
... but the listening is absent and sometimes so are the players but the game goes on as does my wish to leave, to be elsewhere, anywhere, soon.

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the skies above

I listen and watch as the passenger jets fly Northeast over my head, changing their route out of the Dallas Metro Area around the same time each night, me, mesmerized by their blinking lights, their sound, the one after another after another , bringing up thoughts to be upon one going somewhere and going fast
not thinking where, as anywhere would be fine. As there I would create the rules, taste freedom and savor its flavor and wonder where I would be taken next as long as Dallas was not on the horizon soon or later as my time is finished here as it was finished before I got here
was never an option as my life was and remains at stake but now, the same life I so worried about, I am ready to give up for my freedom, my space, people to talk with my own age that have stories to share and places to go and offerings in return of friendship and
pure love...

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The power of Mother Nature has always fascinated me, possibly because we slept many a night in the basement while growing up as storms rumbled through. Each of us had our spot when awoken by our mother and told to go to the basement as we heard the sirens in the distance get louder and louder, the dark of night rumbling with the sound of thunder and the strikes of lightning.

Tonight I watched as a storm rolled through, even though the chances were slim and found myself mesmerized by the heat lightning that met a cold front, creating a combustion that rolled through as the radar turned red and the clouds headed in our direction, opening with a vengeance and all their might.

Upon passing after a half hour of rain, wind, thunder and lightning, I went outside and was caught by the brightness of the moon, what we had experienced now in the distance, the noises so accustomed to each and every night silent as I stared at a lone star and the remnants of the clouds trickling by at a very fast pace.

I sat and watched with my dog at my feet, expecting the noises of the night to return and they never did as the coyotes are yet to howl, the bugs drying their wings and not flying and the dogs that bark in the distance, silent. The smell, fresh and the slow drips from the gutters the only noise left to hear with the exception of the airplanes that fly a route parallel to Interstate 30, always wondering where they are headed and many a time wishing I too was aboard.

A cleanliness abounds, awaiting to bring in a new day and another something to look forward to, giving me an added will to continue to move forward on my journey, as difficult as it has become...

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August 27th

Today my mind is with the passing of Stephen, 16 years ago, still seeming as if it was yesterday I received the dreaded call as the sun was beginning to rise over the Arizona Mountaintops, early on that Saturday morning. My confidant, friend and partner in crime as we 'tooled' around the Northern California area, I know he watches and awaits my arrival, often easing my mind and keeping the what if's at bay and yet although time has passed, the pain has never gone away.

The memories cherished, the friendship thought and known as sacred and the spirit felt in my everyday, knowing that although I tried to be the best friend possible, knowing today what I did not know then, I could have done and been so much more as I now understand what its like, what he himself endured as I struggle through my life's journey, his cut much shorter for reasons that today would keep him alive, vibrant and an envy to many he came into contact with, called home too early, but ready, as his spirit flourished
and will continue as long as I am breathing...

Promises made,
promises kept
as time continues to tock and tick, wondering, but not too often, what he might look like today, how life would have been different, a teacher of many things, powerful in his own right, never finding one to speak of him in an ill will. A model to define life fulfilled even in a short period of time and a sense of awareness of the hereafter never seen on that level before nor since...


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to write again

I promised myself that I would write again and no matter what circumstances led to my absence for more time than I even expected, through the generosity of the written word and the verbal word, I realize how important it is to others as well as to myself that my writing continues as a given gift to be read, contributed to and displaying the gamut of emotions that I myself experience, knowing that with that also comes the pain of hurting others unintentionally as they continue to watch as I slowly travel down my life path, being held in earnest by many as the pain I go through can no longer be hidden and often is intolerable for those walking with me, needing breaks and often turning around, not to see nor think, as I myself need to sit more frequently and regain what little strength I have keeping me looking forward, knowing that to concentrate on anything but is counter productive and wasteful so forward I go.

For all those believers I thank you kindly, the blisters growing larger with every step, the energy consumed even causing my voice to be less audible as I no longer have the strength and the force behind it to enunciate what I am trying to say, the demands of saying something of worth, great enough, often unheard and a gross misinterpretation of 'your mumbling' to those I might be speaking to although I find that I have internalized much of me in an effort to conserve and perform the most simple of task.

And even with the recent tell all of my blood work which was discouraging, showing more activity in the damage of tissue and organs, I still am finding a way to write on this day, as much as rest is needed, knowing one day I will have plenty of time to rest and rest even more...

So I bid a goodnight, temporarily I hope as I will again lie down and seek the slumber my body so aches for, the aches themselves keeping me awake and unable to stay asleep for any great length of time as often even the touching of a sheet to my person is enough to send me into another orbit, the pain that intense.

Always, however, keeping in mind that as long as it's me, it's not someone else and that as slow and labored as it all may be, as misunderstood and rejected by others, denied too deep to ever reach the surface of truth, I still am breathing whereas so many others no longer have that luxury.

As I continue to move forward, often at a snail's pace, I look ahead of me, beside me, underneath me, behind me and realize that the complexities I experience are worth something and my story, for better and for worse, needs to be told as that was my purpose, my undertaking, when I started not knowing how far I might come, how difficult it might get and how fortunate I truly am, no matter how I look at life as I know given any state of mind I might be in, the nebulizer working overtime, the oxygen flowing and the medication being taking on a 24 - 7 clock remains a challenge but ALL persons and sentient beings have their challenges, mine different but no more demanding than another's from their point of view at the time, given what they can and cannot handle for my betterment or not...

peace over shadow, I shall remain constant until eternity and beyond...


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silence broken

The silence was broken today in a lengthy conversation I had with The Warrior, reminiscent of how truly broken he is, he sounded, even the mere pitch of his voice doing battle to be heard as the wounds upon him are great, greater than any battle scars of any warrior I have known...

Although the silence broke it's obvious his machine (person) is broken as well. Sending pictures, one merely has to look and see that the decline he has weathered is heart wrenching and the aura surrounding him still majestic, but faded and tarnished, much like the TinMan in The Wizard of Oz, one of his all time favorites films.

We were interrupted several times as in his weakened state he was asked 'to do' and when he responded, it was more than obvious he is NOT treated as an adult but a mere child, the child that left many years ago and grew into a man only to have to retreat 'home' due to an illness that has not been fair, reverting him back into the mere child he so hated being out of the fear that surrounded him.

His mind once full of hope and will was less convincing today, it's there but his wings are ready to fly, several times his voice cracking at comments I made, knowing he was holding back tears and brushing them from his face much like he used to use the brush to show his true feelings and emotions on canvas and paper.

Never speaking of the past and asking why me, he fully concentrated on what I had to say, wanting to know how I was rather than talk about the self, a protection of sorts I am sure as the pain, physical and mental, are overbearing and continue to wreak havoc on him as a person on a mission, with something to prove and still professing that it's all about love, something I sense he is lacking in his surroundings as the loneliness of living with your family, having little freedom and few places to go as transportation is and has been an issue since day one, a day I believe he would rewind and alter if given the chance.

Still, with all the trials and tribulations, he still speaks fondly of those that have closed the door on him or those he had to close the door on for the sake of his mental and physical health, wishing no ill will toward anyone but only success, success he believes passed him by with the blink of an eye.

As the illness has truly and completely taken hold, he still manages to laugh, profess how simple life could be and wonders what the afterlife holds, not less secure in his beliefs but knowing they will be experienced too soon no matter how it's looked upon, realizing there are others who have professed their wish he had already passed as 'he ruined their life', stinging blows that have made a once quite social person an introvert out of the fear and the daily grind of knowing you are not wanted, rather tolerated as he talks about wanting desperately to leave his surroundings behind him to go
somewhere, appreciating a roof given over his head with gratitude, even in the most trying of times...

Through all this and more, he still has the courage to tell me how 'easy he has it compared to other people in much dire straights than he', a reality he believes heart and soul.

written for and behalf of one called The Warrior


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Sometimes SILENCE is better than any written or spoken word(s), any visual left up to interpretation... remains one of those times. The battle continues in earnest, all time consuming, all powerful with bloodshot eyes that sting with exhaustion, a symbol of the demise that continues to chip away piece by piece, no adhesive strong enough to prevent that which occurs internally and externally at an alarming pace.

Life goes on and a mourning begins as the truth no longer can hide itself but instead is obvious, too obvious, the excruciating pain causing exhaustion as it nestles in snug and lies down to slumber.

The mind, the body, the spirit too fragile to do the same.

Sadness abounds.

written for and behalf of the one called The WARRIOR


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My lack of entries as of late is certainly not due to my lack of thoughts, quite the opposite.

I actually have found myself in deep thought, some of which I am not sure I am ready to see in black and white, let alone share with another person...


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after day after day...

For reasons that are unknown to me and unknown to my medical team, I am somewhat amazed at the days that pass when my medication just does not seem to work properly, the pain raising from the twilight sleep it sits in, giving me a jolt, a thump and another thump to let me know how very real and very intense it is and can get without an answer or any bit of relief...

And then there are evenings like this evening where all of my medication seems to have hit at once, calming my system, mind body and spirit and allowing a part of me to relax that usually remains in the state of 'fight or flight', giving the rest of me an ability to realize the intensity for which I now try to control and recover somewhat from, as if anything I do or any movement I make is just another sign of the constant battle that plagues me, how brittle the little tissue surrounding my bones truly is. I look in the mirror and wonder where I went, the thinning becoming so very obvious its hard to hide under the layers I wear, not for that intention, but because I chill so very easy and have found myself in more pants and long shorts than anything that the Texas heat should and always has brought in the past.

As my sizes shrink and the fatigue I wear only gets heavier and more difficult to control, I hope for a few hours of slumber, sometimes the mere thought of, a task itself so exhausting it take me a day or two to finish what it once took me all of 5 minutes from thought to ending and completion, trying to do more and push myself harder as there are so many days that the slight push is enough to make me collapse and demand rest here, now and until I am ready to rejoin the life that goes on around and about me.

I yearn for the days of long and projects into and past the fall of night only to now know that for that to happen is a luxury I see very little of and try to take advantage of, as there are plenty of bad moments that continue through an entire day, moments where no rest is enough, no thought too positive and no pill the antidote to major organs struggling to keep me afloat as my legs paddle underneath, but gently, the splash possibly putting my system in an overload I loathe but experience all too often
after day after day...


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happy birthday

After the ensuing cluster of storms rolling in from the West have passed and the ferocious howl of the winds have died down, the crackling of lightning replaced by the sounds of bullfrogs and chirping crickets, a dark cloud will linger overhead as today is not an ordinary day, nor should it be, as it is the birthday of Stephen, a comrade, a true confidante that completed his journey, prematurely, almost 16 years ago, finally letting go of that which plagued him, his battle with AIDS. And although I think of him and fondly of his name, never a day going by that he can nor would be forgotten as he taught me much about life over a short period of time, never thinking nor imagining that it all was for something, the completion of my journey with a different illness but many of the same fears, frustrations, hopes and dreams that he so eloquently and so nonchalantly shared with me over the period of several years and even longer until he was no longer able to communicate, often sending me a sign, something symbolic to remind me of his ever presence and place in my heart as well as my soul. A place that remains his through all the trials and tribulations life has brought, all the joys and the happiness and the learning that I now am doing , much of which he subconsciously taught me when I had no idea his teachings were to be so revered as sacred, to become everyday mantras of mine in one way or another way, some days simply to push myself mentally through the day and its bringing.

Often I think about the times we had and try frantically to remember the calmness of his voice, a voice that spoke the truth and commanded attention where ever he may be, a voice that spoke of spirituality and an afterlife, fine wine and fine authors, never one to judge but one to accept another as special in every right, in a manor in which many might find impossible to emulate and morals that are often only heard about in fairytales or stories of sainthood. Yes, he had his flaws but they were overlooked by me for I had no expectations nor he any for me as what was, was and accepted as truth.

Today as I grieve, I also smile for the honor, the privilege of knowing someone that taught me so much and left such an impact on my person, my core beliefs and subsided many of the fears I once thought never to be overcome...

...Until we meet again Stephen,
until we shall meet again,
Happy Birthday.


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the petals, rose petals

The week before last I made a purchase, a coat, much like a hoodie only with a longer body and upper pockets, as well as cuffs that button, much like a shirt.

I knew that even with the heat of the Texas sun approaching and lingering around and about, my lack of body fat, muscular structure meant that in order to sit outside as long as I am able and watch Ashley as she gallops about the backyard, I needed to have something of substance to keep me warm.

True to my theory, I wore it for the first time tonight, not even taking the time to remove the tags on the inside, the inspection stickers placed on the inside of each pocket, left and right, and warmth was abundant but hot, not at all and the fact that it the jacket was on clearance for less than I can purchase a T is and was a factor in my decision to make the purchase.

As I fumbled around to get acquainted with my new 'digs', I found in the pocket, sitting atop my heart, dried out petals, rose petals, and I was pleasantly mystified, promising myself they shall remain there as long as I possess ownership...

An inspiration of sorts, a mystery too as the coat is new and I shall check with the manufacturer but can bet no other possesses the petals.


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final approach

The wrath of Mother Nature never ceases to amaze me as she once again is getting ready to show her full might in the wee hours of the morning, arousing Ashley Marie and putting her on full attention as she watches me with one eye open, ears listening to the howling of the wind that a half an hour ago was all quiet and birds were heard chirping in cadence with one another.

And although never have I been a fan of storms of any kind, a learned behavior since childhood when we often were awakened to go to the basement and sleep in the closet under the stairwell at the order of my mother, I find comfort in knowing that the power exists as it reaffirms my beliefs in something bigger, greater than me as such might wreaks of perfection, something a mortal man could never create nor even duplicate precisely in a laboratory as he has tried only to fail time and time again.

The thunder begins to rumble as the squall line approaches from the West, a rolling thunder that gets lounder as the sound of rain starts to ping upon the rooftop, trees swaying and bowing gracefully from side to side, making their own form of a Nike swoosh.

I lay my head down and await as the intensity will pick up soon and knowing I am in the comfort of a home, be that it's someone elses no longer matters as it's a safety net of sorts that will protect me and allow me to remember that as my trials and tribulations get larger and tasks harder to complete, the force of energy that encompasses me and all other sentient beings provides comfort...
another piece of hail dropping from above,
a symbol of what might be out there, somewhere but not nowhere as I try to shut my eyes and get some much needed and required rest.


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words that sting

While typing my last post I received a text that made no sense only to find out the sender intended me to be someone else, ending it all with,
'have an enjoyable existence.'

Not only did his phrase stun me, it stung me as I have heard from him less and less as time has worn on, promising to stay in touch but failing to on both our ends, having little in common except the enjoyment of one of my most prized possessions I gifted him prior to leaving Florida as he now enjoys it, I presume, in Texas where he meandered too, hopefully doing well as I would wish him no less, often wondering what he is doing and how he is doing, not necessarily in that order but never to send and end a conversation, when he realized his gaff, in a tone that screams finality,

the end.

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the body art

When I left the Craw Fish boil last Saturday, after all the festivities had winded down and the most gracious hosts' home looked semi back to normal, I awoke with two blisters on my right hand. As the week progressed I watched as they grew in size and changed in color from a clear to a deep burgundy red. Thursday, after the growing continued and the coloring darkened even more, I took it upon myself to peddle to Urgent Care and have a doctor look at them for fear that infection had set in, knowing that plight at this stage of my life would be less than pleasant, having just been on two (2) different rounds of antibiotics for an Upper Respiratory something that showed me many shades of green from my throat and my nose, often at the same time...

The doctor diagnosed me with second degree burns and before her diagnosis, she asked me what had happened and to the best of my recollection, I was scalded by the top of a pot accidentally although I do not specifically recall that having happened. I do know I did hold the lid to the cooler open at one point when boiled Craw Fish were being poured in and I had to turn away due to the steaming of my shades and the heat on my face on an anything but sunny day...a downpour, literally, and an F1 Tornado not too far from the boil itself, nothing to dampen the fun had by all however.

After she lanced the wounds and was cutting off the dead skin surrounding them, she again told me they were typical of what they classify as second degree burns, sometimes caused by the mere steam of scalding or boiling water. Immediately my memory went into overload and as I watched her I thought of the conversation I had just had with Dr. V. the previous Wednesday when I showed him how prominent my veins were as he told me, in all truthfulness, it was another sign of the liver malfunctioning even further as veracious veins are now in my hands, arms and legs, well defined and tender to the touch. He went on to tell and show me how my skin is thinning, another sign of my decline as if looking in the mirror, the lethargy that took root within and stepping on the scale have not been enough since Fall and through the Winter...

So, the lid theory made sense but her suggestion of steam made more sense when I thought, long and hard, of the words uttered so professionally but with concern by Dr. V. as he assured me again he was on my journey until I crossed over unto another plain.

Slowly as expected, the body art is healing, a small sign something is fighting within to work to correct the mess I internally have become, my body working overtime to correct that which once was unimaginable and the mere thought laughable, unthinkable and well, insane to some degree...


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in memory of Mr. E. B.

I recently learned of a tragedy of sorts, keeping my thoughts internal where they will remain but upon hearing of Eric's passing, his taking of his life, leaving a family behind, affected me and will for my lifetime. A loner by definition and a mind with streaks of brilliance, his thought process often clouded as what he once referred to as 'recreational drugs' in an initial conversation took over his person and most likely his mental state as well.

As much as I found him to be brash, evasive and conniving, I often was told I was his only friend and that he spoke fondly of my name, wishing my fate were different, I wishing his where too...

A remembrance of sort knowing that he did for me when others could not and for that I am eternally grateful, and will watch his children from a distance grow, as I see the lights go on and them calling one another's name when they play in the alley way, saying hello when the see me, calling me the 'Onion Man' and smiling, not knowing that I never knew of their father's fate but did know he loved them and knew what love was when his mind was clear enough to distinguish between right and wrong.

To his ex-wife, I too can tell her of the times he offered, often to the point of irritation, to assist me, get me out of the house and see Dallas for what Dallas had to offer. Once taking me on a tour that was historic, classical music in the background, showing me parts of the city I never have seen since nor will again and his knowledge, impressive, as he had studied and researched that which intrigued him and me as well.

He gave me a cryptic goodbye a year ago to the date, telling me all was amicable, he was going back to Shreveport to care for his ailing mother, leaving his wife on her terms and reassuring me again, all was for the best. The Mercedes wagon he drove sat in the driveway for months, collecting dirt that was washed off by a rare summer rain and one day it too was gone, a closure of sorts to his life here.

A life he was never proud of, a place he never wanted to reside but did so willingly as it was his wife's career that provided the essentials as he piddled about with projects of extravagance, none that I ever saw to conclusion, or success. Once a used car salesman, it was obvious in the way he spoke to others, always swindling, labeled as different, with his erratic behavior yet always willing to look out for the other guy, just not himself in the proper light and haunted by demons, the stresses the mundane took upon his person, his way of thinking, his masterful plans.

In G-D's speed Mr. B. as we will see one another again and never will I ask why, as a loner thinks alone and acts alone, not realizing that all the tiny pieces, be they right or wrong, good or bad, must now be cleaned up by those left behind, those he did not consider as he was incapable at that moment and possibly he did think it all through, realizing his downward spiral but it was quicksand he saw and there was no escape other than the hope of an afterlife...

His journey has ended, prematurely at best, no alternative, thinking alone as a loner does and ending a life that went from happiness to misery with a sip of Dr. Pepper and the chewing of a pill...

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I got the 'adult children do not come home to live that often' lecture yesterday, not that I have not heard it before and before that too. I sat and listened and said not a word as I was taken off guard, quite perplexed and know that to say anything is to add fuel to an already burning flame so its best to just let it burn itself out, if that is possible and until I die, the fire will continue to smolder, I will be looked upon with great animosity and regret, and be treated as the child I once was, the adult spoken of, but so very often left out of every and all equations.

It stings, actually burns as the wounds continue to open wide, no healing able to take place as I ponder the many conversations had prior to my arrival when I was adamant about not coming to Texas and was pleaded with until I finally accepted the invitation. Yes, I was invited and that is how I got here, leaving all that I worked for behind, told it was only material things that could be replaced, my health the most important, for without your health, you have nothing. I bought the idea, hook, line and sinker...

When I arrived I was praised and thanked for what I did as it was how I was raised and now, I am scolded if those same things are not done correctly, even though my abilities to do are much less than they once where and the energies exerted taking a toll that is irreversible, all in the name of peace of mind. If my hair is wrong, I am told. If my outfit isn't liked, I am told. If my cooking is overdone, I am told. If I have plans and am unable to drop everything as an order is being cast upon me, its silence and the silence turns into unwillingness to assist me with what ever I might need assistance with.

The little things I worried about and discussed prior to coming , when I was told I worry too much about the small stuff, still have not been done. It is as if while I was airborne, there was a change of heart...

Being grateful for a roof over my head is not good enough, nothing ever has been, nothing ever will be until there is finality on my being,, my chapter closed.

... I was never told but instead reap the consequences of living where I truly was not wanted, in a situation that never could have worked to begin with as I was never going to be treated as an adult, and at the very least, I do not believe that is or was too much to ask for.

I knew not to come to Texas. My heart and soul told me different. The fear of a terminal illness overtook me. And since I did not die when I was supposed to die as originally thought, its my fault, as it has always been since as long as my mind can remember.

Grateful I will always be and never can stress that thought or say it enough as it is never believed as I should do more, be more, and change my believes, morals and convictions to benefit another's, as mine are perceived as trivial in a space and a place that does not belong to me.

Now, the task of getting out sooner than later in the physical state I am,


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California pow wow

I spoke with my Indian friends in Northern California the other night, picking up as we so often do, laughing and smiling under the toughest of circumstances, the saddest of news, the funniest of stories being shared in between the reality we all call life.

As it was upon our first meeting we spoke from the heart and the soul, connected many lifetimes ago, often completing one another's sentences as we have done before and will do again.

We learned something new about each other as we always do, time is invaluable, a precious commodity, something we always have for one another, whether it be in thought or in a conversation, it's there, it's realizing that excuses are easier than finding that time we know to be so desirable...

For the connection we have is spiritual, Serendipity in its' truest form, that shared from the heart creating a sense of worth, a belonging, a desire to see one another again to share, to laugh, to smile, to toast with the finest of ports, to be free and to love in person, a goal set, all the finite details... semantics.

Our 'Carnival Isn't Over', it has just begun...


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3 strikes but not out...

And the toll strikes 3, am that is, and slumber is not in the picture, at least for now. They say you can feel the approach of death and a calmness abounds and knowing this, I must admit the 'they' is correct as I listen intently to the fat lady warming up her vocal chords, practicing her scales, showing me her outfit dressed in a Gothic sort of way, little color but wind swept and makeup of tribal tones, singing 'The Carnival is Over' by Dead Can Dance, a rendition I have never heard before and will never hear again.

The echos are louder than ever and she having presented herself to me, makes me believe that the fat lady will sing soon and not later as I had hoped and wished for but I still will fight with the will I have left, feeling drained, my life force depleted and my body emaciated from the trials, the tribulations and the fight that has valiantly been fought...

I await something and this I know. I feel it. It's the what that has me puzzled, baffled but certainly not fixated as it simply is my fate, chosen or otherwise but mine and acknowledged as that.


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the dominoe theory

I've never been a player of dominoes. I believe I have watched them being played once or twice or possibly more and maybe someone along the way tried to teach me to play but my interest was not there.

I was more excited to set them up in all sorts of funky looking patterns and tipping the first so that the entire design would tumble, or so it was supposed to, only to set them up and do it again...

My like is based on the dominoes. You fall down, out of grace, be it your own or another's, dust yourself off and start over again, the domino theory.

I live in a household that works on the domino theory One says something, another does not like it, falls from grace and takes that which they were called out for and to avoid confrontation as there is too much, add accusation and silence, and they repeat the behavior to another so that they no longer have fallen, another has, whether the accusation, the conversing is based upon fact or to vent that which they were exposed to earlier. Better the next than the self and although it's wrong, it's puzzling as you would think children abound.

Instead it's the behavior of adults that abounds and the game of dominoes continues to be played whether one knows how and chooses to play or is just there at the wrong time for the inappropriate comment to be said, the gesture seen or the motion granted, not by choice but to be put back in line, much like the dominoes until it's your turn to once again take that fall from grace, be it right, be it wrong or just because it can be.

So like the dominoes, I too continue to fall, pick myself back up awaiting to fall again and the routine it has become is nothing less than disturbing and, well, childish in every aspect of a game being played by adults with an agenda that is hidden but enforced for selfish reasons and no other.

What's really in it for me,
the reality of living here.

A reality that can be debated as something else, but something that truly is and always has been since childhood and many days, that childhood I so avoided, rears its ugly head and smiles at me from a distance or closer.

It remains in the forefront of my thought, my action, what I can and cannot do and what is and isn't tolerated under a house full of rules as the dominoes continue to fall...


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My mind continues to move
and move fast,
keeping me from a decent night of slumber and I am yet to figure out where it is going to at such a rapid pace,
so fast that the thoughts are disappearing as fast as they appear, pictorial and verbal, allowing me not to remember, put a complete story together to stop the true madness I am experiencing...

Memories flash and memories are vivid, but as fast as they become, they disappear, moving like a synopsis 'this is MY life', a scenario with people and places and things I once remembered so vividly but now, so many holes that need filler for a completion or a plea for it to
altogether, weighing me down with baggage, more baggage than I can carry or should be thinking about at such an hour or any hour as more important issues take the forefront, disallowed as a form of protection as the spinning from within continues with a force that is powerful and incoherent at times, more so than not, but the stimulation random and continuous as eventually I will fall into slumber,
so wanted,
so needed and seemingly,
so very distant.


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It took not long after I finished my Z pack to speak with the doctor's office, let them know that I was still coughing and blowing the color of green peas, for the Dr. to place me on another antibiotic for fourteen days, twice a day, an antibiotic that, with all the medicine I currently am on, has more warnings on the bottle than any other, that has a PDR quite lengthy which I certainly will not read out of the mere fear it might create within me to keep me from completing or even taking the antibiotic at all.

I know, to the dismay of some and the delight of others, the infection is deep, and has worsened in a very short amount of time, taking with it my energy, appetite, will to motivate and a mind full of hope and the will of the warrior. Instead I am trying to rest, sometimes doing better than other times, not so well as I write at this late hour.

Ad when I rest I think and realize more and more everyday that I am a stranger in my own environment and the person that is looked at, if looked at at all, is looked at as a disease, the me having already disappeared. My intentions questioned, my motives questioned, my inner being questioned possibly out of boredom, lack of something better to do or the realization that I have come to,
that my stay is no longer welcome as I am able to do less and less, never trusted, never looked at as who I am but who I am thought to be for the benefit of another, so parallel to when I was a child so many years ago...

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I got your post and posted it late this evening and am not sure what the 'eric?' means and as I sat outside and thought about it, all I could do was think about thoughts in general and realize that thoughts that I have, thoughts that I write and thoughts that people are reading are not always to be understood as if I understood all, if I had the answers to all, I certainly would not have the need nor feel the internal desire to blog and continue to share what is within me, without me and around me.

Over time, much of what I have written about is random. It takes you somewhere but it is often as abstract as my thinking, my visual art as well. This is the way in which I think and possibly one or many of the reasons I do not understand the actions of others as their actions come from their thoughts. And the lack of understanding when I think of them in my way of thinking, creates an internal conflict which often is too great, too mystifying for me to put into words that which you might be searching for,
an answer,
that which I may be searching for,
an answer,
for I have no answer,
just a truth and how I was affected by that truth...


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true colors

I locked the door behind me, leaving the house on foot, heading North and waiting for a tear to fall but there were none. I lifted my sunglasses hoping a tear would fall but instead the feeling stayed in my throat, my gut churning and my mind wandering far, far away from where I was and where I was headed, still paying attention to my loyal companion, Ashley Marie.

My head pounding and my nose running, I continued on a journey, a ride never given a second thought as the mere asking caused chaos as it most always does.

I had a prescription to get and knew my dog, my music would keep me company as I watched the cars passing me at a steady rate, wishing, simply wishing as I turned again and vomited along side of the road in one of the bags I brought with me.

Someone saw me, they had too and someone most likely knew me, the neighborhood is not that large, but no one stopped, that would be too kind, a random act, something only seen in a Hollywood movie or an occasional commercial for attention sake and nothing more.

I got the Z pack and paid my co-payment, the technician telling me I did not look so good. If she only knew the truth, the truth hiding my true colors buried under the layers of dust and clutter I see from room to room as I walk through the house wondering what I will get yelled at for next, what I might be blamed for or accused of, knowing my body too weak to fight back as it continues on and praying tonight under the mystical glow of the full moon to leave so much sooner than later...

The plane flew by as it usually does and I watched the blinking of the lights flicker in a set pattern, knowing not where it was going but wishing, always wishing I was on it, smiling and talking to those sitting next to me as they learn who I am out of want and me telling them out of need, the feeling of excitement squandered as the engines can no longer be heard and the lights too far in the distance to be seen.

My body walks slowly back to where I try to slumber, my mind having left many a month ago, not to return as the pain is too great, the hurt too deep and the reality of where I am sadly soaking into my pores as I try to scrub the feelings away only to scrub so hard I bled gen myself out of what I have been made into...

... the child that was, still afraid and scared at all that surrounds him just like yesteryear and before.


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The fact that those who professed to be most supportive of my plight, most concerned and pleading, begging that I return to my roots where I could and would receive the comfort any family member deserves and should receive upon doctors believing that what is before you is life threatening, no option for a cure starring me in the mirror, are having what appears to be a joyous time of mocking that which the doctors have said over and over, is beyond appalling, its SHAMEFUL.

To walk through a room minding my own business, my back in spasms as I prepare to get on my bicycle and obtain groceries using my food stamp card is my purgative. To not even be offered a ride or asked if I could what until a ride was available is SHAMEFUL. For others to be told how much their life has been changed as they are my caregiver, not even knowing my list of medications, the quantity, when and why I take what I am prescribed is dangerously SHAMEFUL.

To have my physician deliver my prescriptions to the pharmacy as he has, unfortunately, heard the exchange about how unnecessary it is for me to be placed on another medication as if the person doing the speaking in the background had the medical degree in place of my physician and those he consults with is SHAMEFUL.

To have parents who know me as a child, treat me as such afraid I am going to 'burn their home down due to my careless antics' to the point that rules are put into place as to when I can and cannot cook and how that cooking should be done is SHAMEFUL. To look at the kitchen table with six place mats for sitting and only two cleared away for usage, is SHAMEFUL. To be mocked with the sounds of one vomiting in the background as if to imply that is who and what I am as it was done before, when I was thirteen and fourteen the same way, in the same manor, is SHAMEFUL.

To be asked time and time again to help with chores that do more damage to my body physically shows a lack of caring, a lack of understanding and the fact that the denial of my plight is so great it now has become a situation where by I have less or the same freedom I had as a thirteen year old, but not much older is SHAMEFUL.

To be accused time and time again for that which is a falsity, told so and disputed as another lie on my part is SHAMEFUL. To say I am not grateful for the roof placed over my head and do not respect those who cannot respect me as they do not know me is SHAMEFUL.

To know that I am scolded for not eating, accused of vomiting and being anorexic if I do eat and wasting food that I bought myself is SHAMEFUL, proving further the lack of knowledge those supposed to be closest to me and most concerned with my plight have, being so far removed from my medical truth is SHAMEFUL.

To know that I write my thoughts only for them to be paraphrased within a matter of hours if not a day or two and read to benefit the one doing the reading and making me look wrong for merely thinking and feeling is SHAMEFUL.

To know that promises were made, demands already put into motion without my consent or knowledge but to benefit the one making such demands is SHAMEFUL.

To know that this is the final phase of my life journey and truth is not spoken, I am told I have 'ruined a life ' for continuing to be alive and continuing to be here is SHAMEFUL.

To know that when another feels bad physically can be quiet, removed and alone but I am perceived as hiding something, plotting or being completely dishonest is SHAMEFUL.

And to know that I might die in an environment full of bantering and bickering when I lived peacefully on my own for almost twenty (20) years, not being told how and why every step of the way is SHAMEFUL and will make me fight harder so that I can shut the door on this chapter and leave, emotionally and physically damaged but left to die a peaceful existence with that which is most important, unconditional love, knowing it will never happen here and I was sold on an idea when I was most vulnerable, most fearful in and about life, is SHAMEFUL.

To hear who knew and who did not know I was or was not coming and the grudge being held that I remain alive by my own flesh and blood is beyond sad, but SHAMEFUL.


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Alexandra Lauren is

Today, Alexandra turns one. Its her day just as it was a year ago as we all sat and paced, occupying our minds and our bodies until the word came in that April had given birth to a beautiful baby girl.

So many questions I had and so many I still have as it has been a joy, a pleasure and a unique privilege to watch as she has grown and is now taking her first steps, sharper than a tack, never missing a beat and always dancing, smiling and teaching the simplicities of life if we allow her to.

allow I do and thus I let her in, past my eyes as she gazes deep with her baby blues into my soul, speaking in a language to that voice within me that speaks back to her and I wonder what her future holds, what spark she has brought me and know that happiness is a plenty as she has more than most, much more, but gives too in a way that is pure and real and wholesome and honest....untarnished as it should be for now as things will change, they always do.

Its not jabber to me nor baby talk but signs and signals from where she came from as she begins to exude a personality and her language, although not always distinguishable, has a diction that forces one to look and take notice as soon, she will not be so innocent, learn the rules forced upon us all and that which she tries to convey lost and the only thing she will remember are the stories told, the pictures and videos shown as she grows and matures, asking and being taught along the way but me knowing I had the joy of knowing her and she me, the uncle who will be a memory but the uncle that always looked from a distance as I had more fun watching her than cuing over her...

The uncle that knew every visit was precious, every touch worthwhile and every stare meaningful as her journey begins and mine winds down as it was meant to be...


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the blame game in the color green

I never thought my entire rationale for blogging, to share my thoughts with myself and those that care to read, add or silently learn of my journey, would temporarily keep me from writing but it did.

My thoughts many and overwhelming, led me to pleading with self for some time to re-train my way of thinking and although I am not there yet, up to the standard I set for self at a time when I should be setting no standards but simply being, , all things considered, I am pleased that my lack of the pursuit of writing what I have been thinking has helped me in a retreat of sorts, trying and sometimes getting the much needed rest my body requires and without it, refuses to function in any state of normalcy what so ever. The end result a restless mind full of questions and dilemmas I already have settling answers to.

But considering it is so very difficult for me to understand what is normal under the circumstances, the hand I have been dealt, anytime I feel progress as the stand out word for the day, I am more than joyful and feel a deep sense of accomplishment. And although time has gone by, precious time, I have been aware of it, but knew that continuing to strive at the pace I no longer could maintain or even come close to thinking I could maintain was causing my thought process to be destructive as the 'grass IS always greener' and when your thoughts are based upon past events, people and places and they are present as if they were a yesterday, the hollow feeling left in my gut has been less than desirable, less than helpful mind, body, spirit and has taken a serious toll on my physical well being.

To look is to know
and anyone who looks knows
I am battling at an alarming rate and that as I physically dwindle away, I strive to keep my mind crisp and needed this extra time to re-adjust what I find to be important as well as telling myself over and over and over again that it all is alright and will be alright as the master plan I am apart and a part of will provide for me, those I worry about and those who worry about me.

Never will I think less but its how I think that has not changed, it needed rest and rest has been given to the point I feel my fingers can write again, my subconscious taking over when its too tough for me to speak the truth I witness, I feel and that which continues to scare me as I too am human no matter how spiritual I wish to proclaim to be. It is not nor ever was perfection that I sought, but an energy level that I knew was gone, fought to maintain only to worsen what I have left, no fault or blame given...

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screaming in silence

It's back, the anxiety and this this time, with a vengeance. Not that I have not struggled with anxiety and the realities facing me along my journey, but in broaching the issue with the Dr. his feelings are that it is an intense chemical change that continues as my body tries to ward off the impossible and make sacrifices to 'keep walking', pulling from on direction so that I can go the other and then back again.

It is not a new feeling just one that is full of ridiculous and redundant thought, much fear that I have worked through and resolved, leaving me more of a prisoner than I already believed myself to be, wondering ifs and whens and the physical pains that have intensified so dramatically over the course of little time, my body trying desperately to adapt to the changes approaching, as well as my inability to do so much that actually was so little just a few months ago with no resolve in sight.

And when I feel or believe I feel half way 'normal', not even knowing what the definition is anymore, I overdo it, not intentionally but out of the what if I cannot tomorrow or later and thus my exhaustion level is greater which only compounds the beginning of my thoughts, a cycle that spins round and round and round some more.

I am tired when I make plans, the very thought causing the exhaustion and yet I am excited just the same. My sleep pattern has crumbled, my body skeletal and as the temperatures warm up my internal or body core temperature still freezes as there is no body fat to speak of to protect me from the elements, the weather changes, the blow wind, etc.

Its a vicious cycle, one that forces me to internally scream in silence, but one I will embrace as to do otherwise would be to stop hoping, to have no more will and a complete lack of resolve. I try to stay occupied and focused but that focus is sporadic and all over the place, a canvas with a series of colors that I know not where it might take me or when it might be complete and this completion,


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I am beginning to wonder if sleep is possibly overrated, very overrated, as I cannot seem to get a full or decent night's worth of slumber, even with my eyes droopy, my head sagging and my mind a bit or more than delirious...

Daytime naps seem to bring about dreams that are somewhat frightful or a deeper sleep but a sleep that makes me arise with chills, often sweats and very little time having passed and trying to calm myself and fall back into sleep is a virtual 'no go' as my mind begins to take over and the stress of everyday living or my everyday thoughts prevent me from being able to shut down, for awhile or longer and get the rest that is said to be needed to function and function well.

Last night I fell out of bed, unintentionally and the hard thump on the floor, falling flat has made it all the more difficult as I now am faced with nursing bruising upon my back and buttocks that is preventing me from getting a sound sleep. The fact that the wind was knocked from my person was bothersome as well as I realized in time of need or crisis I am, for the most part, on my own, preferring to do more than I am supposed to, as a show or sign of the hope and the will I have to continue and this way I allow others that may be around to concentrate on their own agendas instead of focusing so much on mine...

Having spent so long as an independent, doing and living my own way has taken its toll as my body moves forward, slower, but forward and the stresses are evident upon the face of more than one and thus although I was warned again on Friday about 'undertaking too much' instead of resting more, I am cutting into the days I have left, but at this point and with the rules and regulations put so strictly into place more recently than not, it is just as well that I might be or am loosing days as the thought of continuing with so little freedom under a set of rules, grateful as I may be for a roof over my person and a place to lay my often weary head, is playing havoc on my psyche and to determine which scenario might be worse is energy I choose not to waste as I believe the answer would surprise even myself once my thoughts were fully studied in a neutral environment...

Of all desires and wants and thoughts, even wishes, Texas was NEVER on the list and I cannot imagine that list having changed all that much as my favorite places, spots, still pull me in their direction no matter how I feel, trying to set aside anything that might influence such thought as the day to day grind, how I feel (mind, body and spirit), or what appears to be boredom that I might be experiencing for lack of a better word, at this early or late hour depending upon how one looks at the clock ticking and tocking before me.

Time will tell as I arise again...

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the belly of a whale

Since I was invited to come and live in Texas, not where I am living, which to this day I clearly do not and will not understand as to why the arrangement was such when I am reminded how I have 'ruined a life', that being one that in my opinion, has been less than 'stellar or eventful' ever since I can remember and sometimes, not always, my memory serves me correct and goes back quite far...Never remembering the social calendar filled with going out or doing much of anything unless you count criticizing a supermodel, those upon the red carpet, singers that supposedly are Idols, dancers that were chosen over YOU...and/or to a movie or concert, you have played the role of no show most of your adult life to your own tune and own liking.

With all the strife that obviously sits in the belly of a whale I wonder, how much can the belly of a whale belly ache before is just isn't worth the words being spoken, especially when you are talking usually to a wall, as all around have learned the best way to avoid projection is to disallow it completely, listen, say nothing in return and eventually the hint will be gotten that you are picking an unnecessary, unwanted fight, turning the pool of energy surrounding the room black with the soot left behind quite difficult to remove from the layer upon layer of dust over anything and everything not protected.

To sit and listen to one who has spent ample amounts of time talking about the power of manipulation, how it is thrived upon, I must laugh and shake my head as the biggest manipulator of them all turned out to be the one belly aching about the concept in the first place.

So call a spade a spade, ease up a little on the falsities and the untruths so eloquently told for personal gain as if afraid that to be less than the center of attention destroys you and TRY to enjoy the life you have.

After all, no one else has been able to mangle and jumble words and thoughts and ideas and people the way you have only to turn around and lie for your personal gains, and let's remember, YOU created your own destiny at the expense of so many willing to help time and time again and never even a thank you came out of the mouth as you were too busy belly aching, the 'woe is me syndrome' that is less than admirable from a person that supposedly had it all together, but a self esteem smaller than that of a mocking bird, and I say mocking bird as they mock, but are incapable of flying on their own, needing a partner in crime and thus you have one or two depending upon your issue and the time of day it might be you decide to throw your daggers...

No one wishes failure so stop assuming and telling people different. Try and walk across the bridge you had the ability to walk, hold on to and notice it has crumbled and your weight not with standing, the reasons were a plenty and when you become the perfection you possess to be, give me and the others a ring or better yet, maybe I might call you... if its not way too late, we will talk and until then, decipher the truth, not as you see it but as it truly is and life might just take you where you want to go but since the pattern has been that of a hopper for year after year, one can only imagine as you cling to the womb and tell tall tales similar to that of the whale to spare yourself the truth staring you in in the eye from near and far.



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I recently finished a series of questions presented to me by one going after her PHD. at Staffordshire University in England, going back and forth and back again, I had time to reflect before answering and while answering her research questions, realizing that as prepared as I am for the finality of my journey to cease, the want and desire to continue thrives just as great, if not greater than my body appearance seems to allow and dictate, hoping for more and more but knowing the odds are stacked on the other side, the side I have prepared myself to enter or so I thought until I began to question some of my original beliefs, wishes and desires, making changes on paper to the proper people without coercion, with a clear mind and spirit.

Its not fear that leads me down this path its the knowing that the end is near and know matter how hard I hope, how much I want, how great my will, my body is losing the battle that I knew it could not win as I see myself thinner, more gaunt, eyes darkened by circles of restlessness, hoarse from trying to speak in a normal tone knowing that normal is somethat that was a yesterday and has no more meaning in mylife and remains a memory that I too, soon will forget as I go further within myself, for many reasons, some to be shared and more to remain a mystery until I am but a memory and those that ask and may wonder will lern that who they thought I was was a not and someone different was always there, always waiting to be heard from but other 'things' were more important and continue to be and this, fine with me, is the truth of which I see as an ending I would never have written but will accept as the choice is limted and my options, less.

Its the dignity that will follow and the rest will never matter as it was not supposed to matter or I would report different, think different and feel different about my ending, my journey, my quality of life or lack there of and those that so desperately try to control much as they once did before, causing me to run and run faster and further only this time I am too tired, to weak to run but internally I hide and will never be found...

I will rest now as I was before my mind started to think and my fingers to type as sometimes happens, not often enough but happens, to allow others to make false judgments, stretch the truth as their own and try and silence me one more time or again.